


burn the remnants of my youth in fire and light

by annabeth_writes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Resurrection, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24645433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_writes/pseuds/annabeth_writes
Summary: When Sansa is taken in the midst of preparations for the war against the dead, everyone's attention turns south for her rescue only to find that they are too late. The others are prepared to stand vigil for the lost Lady of Winterfell, but Jon isn't ready to accept her death and turns to the one person who can fix it. The woman that brought him back from the darkness.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 170





	burn the remnants of my youth in fire and light

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a dark-ish fic, I'm not going to lie. Sansa and Jon are going to have a lot to wrestle with here. But it'll be good, I hope! This is going to be more book canon than show canon.
> 
> Title: Remnants by Jack Garratt

If he didn’t know better, Jon might have been able to convince himself that she simply slept. She looked serene and her hands were folded over her chest gracefully. She’d been arranged this way purposefully, with her fire-struck hair draped perfectly about her shoulders and her ivory silks lovely and unwrinkled. Cersei had taken every effort, setting it all up to make the most of her death. King’s Landing flew under Targaryen banners once more, not that it mattered much now. Even knowing that Cersei now languished in the deepest cell of the Red Keep’s dungeon could not bring him satisfaction.

Not when the result of his own mistake led to this.

His cousin laid out in death, nothing to be done for her bloodless lips or ice cold skin. Jon felt tears prick at his eyes and all but ignored the movement he could see on the other side of the pedestal. This was entirely his fault. Sansa fought him relentlessly when he suggested that she ride to Riverrun while they fought against the Others and their undead army. He didn’t want her in Winterfell when it could so easily fall if their armies failed. At the very least, she might have a chance to ride for the coast and flee to the Free Cities if she sought refuge at the seat of her mother’s family. Yet she resisted him at every turn.

_“Do not make me do this.”_

It was the last thing that she said to him. His reasoning fell on deaf ears. From then on, every word she had for him was carried by way of a middleman. Arya or Sam, bringing him messages from her and relaying them back. Her eventual agreement came upon a piece of parchment that he kept with him even now, wishing him luck in the war to come as she submitted to his will. She left the next day in a caravan of those who could not fight. It took less than a fortnight for several riders to return, exhausted from their relentless journey as they brought word of an abduction. The Lady of Winterfell, taken from their camp by sellswords who left behind a single message. Cersei always made clear her desire for revenge. Jon did not hesitate to demand that they take King’s Landing as soon as they could.

It was not soon enough.

He looked up at the figure that joined him, the sight of her chilling him to the bone as it always did. She stood out against the plain stones of the Great Hall, unbothered by the sight of his deceased cousin before them. She’d seen plenty of death in her time, and even commanded it herself. Jon watched her, knowing that she was his only chance. For he had no intention of riding north without Sansa at his side. Even as he heard impatient shouting from the courtyard and the distant roars of circling dragons, he did not move from her side. Daenerys was determined to make her way north again, to focus on the threat beyond the Wall. The only thing that truly mattered to anyone else. But Jon could only see what was right in front of him. 

“Do it.”

Melisandre’s eyes flitted to him, almost amused at his request. He fought the fury that rose within him, tasting of poison in his tongue, knowing that this was no time to shout and rage. Not when he needed her.

“I saw her death in the flames,” the woman said, reaching out to brush the pad of her thumb over Sansa’s porcelain cheek. “It was not nearly as violent as yours. She drank the poison herself.”

Jon fought back a scoff. He knew this already. The former queen delighted in sharing the details as the Unsullied dragged her from the Iron Throne, cackling at the horror on his face as she told him how she forced Sansa to choose poison or death at the hands of her monstrous guard. Daenerys has assured him that she would see justice before the sun set on that day, not that it mattered much. Melisandre gave him a look of challenge, forcing him to think. Could he really ask this for Sansa? Knowing what it was like to wake in that small chamber at Castle Black, shaking and cold like he’d never been. So cold that it felt as though he’d never get warm. Months and months passed until he saw Sansa again for the first time in years, brilliant and beautiful and so warm that she managed to chase away what cold remained.

Could he do it?

Tear her from whatever peace she might have found in death only to summon her back to a world full of darkness and suffering?

Could he really be so selfish?

“Please.”

With one word, in that one moment, Jon made it clear that he could not bring himself to care. Sansa may well hate him for this but he could bear it, so long as color bloomed in her cheeks again. So long as her eyes shone with life once more. So long as she lived through this long winter and lead the North into a time of thriving and prosperity. He would gladly lay down his life for such a future. Melisandre’s eyes passed over his shoulder, gazing at someone else who stood behind him. When Jon turned, he saw Davos standing there, indecision written across his face. Anger brewed in the depths of his eyes, as it always did when he saw the Red Woman, but this was not the time for past grievances. Jon stared at him without flinching, anger and rage and desperation rising within him.

“For her,” he said, his voice cracking. “And for the whole of the North. We _need_ her.”

Jon braced his hand upon the pedestal where she lay, realization crushing him beneath its heavy weight as a single tear traced a slow path down his cheek.

“I-” he could not bring himself to speak the words, though they rang true nonetheless.

_I need her._

“You know what I require,” the Red Woman said to Davos.

He hesitated for a long moment, staring straight at Jon.

“You’re absolutely certain?”

Jon glanced at Sansa again, taking his time to look at her and reckon with the consequences of his actions. His faults. His mistakes.

_“Do not make me do this.”_

“I am,” he said, nodding his head.

Davos turned, leaving the room to seek out whatever they needed.

“It’s the right decision,” Melisandre said after a short, tense silence. “She will be important in the years to come.”

Jon looked up at her, a storm brewing in his dark eyes.

“She’s always been important.”

*****

In the back of his mind, he knew how strange it was, watching everything that Melisandre did and knowing that she did it with him. He couldn’t bring himself to pay her foreign chanting or odd ritual any mind, clutching Sansa’s cold hand between both of his as he sat in the dark chamber that they withdrew to on the Red Woman’s command. Davos looked unsettled where he hovered in the corner, serving as the only other witness. Jon didn’t remember much about dying but he certainly remembered waking alone, something he wouldn’t condemn Sansa to suffer as well. He stared at her face, willing her to take the first breaths of her second life. He knew that it would take time and settled himself firmly in his seat when Melisandre stepped away and announced that she was done, her red form hazy through the smoke that filled the room.

“Are you certain that it will work?” Davos said, speaking the question that Jon feared to ask himself.

“That is for the gods to decide.”

Jon’s eyes darted away from Sansa’s face for just a moment, reacting to Melisandre’s odd words with a frown. She did not look back at him, arranging Sansa’s hair to hide the short lock that she clipped away.

“The gods?” Jon questioned.

Her eyes flitted to him and she lowered her head in one slow nod.

“There is more to this world than any of us can begin to understand,” she said, moving past him towards the door. “We all have our lessons. Make sure you learn from this one. She belongs at your side and no place else.”

Jon watched her go, a thousand thoughts flying through his head and yet none of them springing to his lips. All that he could do was sit and watch, waiting and waiting, praying more desperately than he had in a very long time. He didn’t see when Davos left, barely reacting to the other man’s pat on the shoulder. A servant came to fetch him for Cersei’s execution after some time but he refused to leave, only moving from his seats when he heard shouts from the yard. Crossing to the covered window, he pulled aside the heavy curtains and peered out in time to see Cersei being marched to where Daenerys stood just outside of the holdfast. They were surrounded by Unsullied and Northmen both, all come to see the Lannister reign brought to an end. Jon watched only long enough to see Cersei drop to her knees as Jorah Mormont approached with his sword. He would not stand by while Daenerys burned anyone, even Cersei Lannister.

Their words were lost on the wind as he turned away from the window but the sound of sword meeting flesh reached his ears well enough. Just as he heard the telling thump of a body hitting the ground, everything else grew still. Time itself seemed to stop as the world grew quiet for one heartbeat. Then another and another until the sweetest noise wrecked the silence. The greedy sound of air drawn into lungs. He hurried for the bed as Sansa clawed at her throat, gasping for breath. Jon seized her wrists to keep her from drawing blood, hushing her gently as he guided her trembling body up to sit. Wild blue eyes seized his in an unbroken gaze, her face filling with color as she grew still at his touch. There was something lost in her stare, a deep helplessness that struck at his heart.

“It’s all right,” he said, aiming for calm in his voice. “Just breathe. You’re safe now.”

Her eyes darted away, flitting about the room fearfully before settling on him once more. Lifting his hands to her cheeks, he felt the coldness of her skin and reached for his cloak, unclasping it to lay about her shoulders.

“I don’t…” her voice was raspy yet he could hear the melodic undertones of it. “I don’t understand. It-it was dark and I… I died.”

Horror crossed her face as tears sprung to her eyes.

“I died, Jon.”

He inhaled shakily, nodding his head.

“You did,” Jon said, refusing to look away from her. “And I’m sorry for it.”

Her hands lifted, clutching at his shoulders as a shudder wracked her form.

“I don’t understand. Jon, please. I don’t… I… how am I alive?”

Jon brushed her hair away from her face, knowing that his words might doom him.

“I had to,” he said, his eyes falling closed. “Gods help me, I had to do it.”

He braced himself for her anger but nearly fell from the bed when she threw herself at him, her hands grasping his jerkin and her face pressed firmly into his neck. He felt the wetness of her tears and could not help but let loose his own, gathering her close as they cried as one.

“I’m sorry,” Jon choked out, cursing his own selfishness even as a bigger part of him rejoiced that she was alive. “Sansa, I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t say anything, simply clutching at him tighter. Neither moved again, nor did they speak. Time may have passed slowly or quickly or not at all, but they did not care. The world did not matter in that moment, in that room.

Only this.

Only her.

Only them.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you think!


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